Because He Loved You
by constellation way
Summary: Whilst in Gondor, Pippin has to break the news of Boromir's death to someone whom he loved dearly and who loved him in return.


When the hobbit appears on her doorstep, Rowena isn't very sure what to think.

He is barely half her height, curly-haired and nervous looking, scratching at his head as she opens the door.

"Are you – " the hobbit pauses, then continues, uncertainly " – are you Lady Rowena?"

"Yes," she says, slowly, unsurely. They stand there for a long moment, before she remembers her manners, and she steps back and gestures for him come in, saying, "Please, enter, make yourself at home."

"Thank you, my lady," the hobbit says, politely, stepping in, and Rowena sees that he wears no shoes; instead, his feet are wide and broad. "My name is Pippin. Well, it's Peregrin Took, really, but nobody ever calls me that."

"Master Pippin, then," she says, leading him into the kitchen and gesturing for him to sit down. She thinks of how he called her 'Lady Rowena', and thinks that only one person has ever called her that, one person with his easy smile and charming grin. She shakes her head, pushes the thought away. "May I enquire as to your visit?"

"I – ah – " Again that nervous look, and Pippin clears his throat. "You may want to sit down."

Suddenly she feels herself growing cold, stumbles slightly as she pulls out a chair. The last time she has heard these words, it was to receive news of the death of her brother, slain by Orcs, and the time before that, the death of her parents in an accident whilst travelling to Rohan. But now she has no one left, no one left whose death may cause her grief or pain –

No.

_There is one_, she thinks. But he never speaks of her, or she of him; no, it was their secret, it had always been their secret. Just the two of them.

"Please," she manages to say. "Please, tell me."

The hobbit takes a deep breath in, looks up and meets her eyes.

"I bring news of Boromir."

_Boromir_.

No.

_It cannot be_.

She thinks of how he left for Rivendell, so long ago, how he had crept to her house quietly the day before his departure, how he had made her laugh as he always did, how he had promised that he would stay safe, as he always did.

She was his secret, he used to tell her, and she knew it to be true, for he was hers and she was his, and no matter how many times his father the Steward of Gondor had persuaded him to wed, had paraded hundreds of pretty girls before him, always, always Boromir would come back to her. Always he would come to her, would tell her one day he would let his father know.

_I will let my father know_, he had said, _when I prove that I am worthy of your love._

_You've no need to prove anything_, she'd said to him.

_I have everything to prove_, he had told her then, had caught her hand in his, and had pulled her close.

"My lady?"

Rowena blinks, takes in a deep breath, looks up at the hobbit.

"What news of Boromir, son of Denethor, would there be to bring to me?" she manages to say.

Pippin looks at her, sadly.

"He has told me of you, my lady."

Rowena shuts her eyes.

He told of her to another.

The only other who knew of them, she knows, is Faramir; and even then, it had been because Boromir could keep no secrets from his brother, and because Rowena had known him first, because if not for him, they would never have met.

Who was this hobbit, to know of them?

"What has happened?" she says, softly, quietly, opening her eyes, keeping them fixed on the table in front of her. She is pulling at her skirt, tugging at it, not wanting to think of Boromir and his smile and his laugh and the flash of his sword when he laid it to rest on the table and his arms around her –

"What news do you bring?"

"He is – " Here the hobbit swallows, nervously, then steels himself. "He is dead, my lady."

_Dead._

_Boromir. Dead._

"No."

Pippin looks up at her, hears her gasp, sees her bring a hand to her heart, sees her hunch over the table.

"No, no, no," she repeats. "No. He promised to stay safe."

"I am sorry, my lady." Pippin reaches out, takes the hand that rests on her lap, and he thinks of what he has said to the Steward of Gondor.

"How?"

Her voice is but a whisper, and Pippin can hear the pain, the grief in it.

"He died defending my kinsman and me." He has to squeeze his eyes shut, and behind his eyelids he can see Boromir swinging his sword, protecting him and Merry, arrow after arrow being shot into his body. He forces his eyes open. "The mightiest man may be slain by one arrow." He swallows, remembers the Uruk-hai closing in on them, Boromir pushing himself up onto his feet to defend them. "And Boromir was pierced by many."

He hears a strangled laugh, then.

"That does sound like him," she says, and there is the ghost of a smile on her face, the faintest of flickers as crystal tears drop down from her eyes, splashes onto her hand. "He would never fall so easily."

"I am sorry to bring you such sad news, my lady."

"No," she says, shaking her head. "No. I am – I am glad to have received news of him."

He glances at her, squeezes her hand softly. "He spoke of you often."

"He did?" she says, and again, a smile flickers across her face.

"Oh, yes," Pippin says. "He would tell us of the young girl in the marketplace his brother had made friends with, the girl selling apples with her red-gold hair and shining blue eyes. Of how he would tease her mercilessly for years, make fun of her and her apples and her friendship with his brother. Of how he would always buy some apples from her and she'd toss him one for free. Of how he would come back, every week, every few days, until he was seeing her nearly every day. Of how, one day, when they had both grown, he'd finally brought her a flower and a song, and told her he loved her ever since the day he had met her, and she had smiled and curtseyed and taken the flower and told him that she loved him as well."

He remembers Boromir then, remembers the smile on the man's face as he spoke of the maiden that he loved so deeply, of how he had made their love into story after story for the hobbits to hear.

Rowena is smiling, smiling through the tears dripping down her face.

"I remember that day," she is saying, softly, and Pippin has to strain his ears to hear her. "It was like a fairytale come true."

"And he told us of how lovely she was," Pippin continues, watching her, "of how good and kind she was, how she never left him even though he would not speak of her to his father, how wonderful and amazing she was, how he didn't deserve her."

"It was I who did not deserve him."

She is still curled over, a hand to her heart.

She thinks of Boromir, her strong, brave soldier, of the young boy who would visit her stall and make her laugh, so different was he from his younger brother and so alike at the same time. She thinks of him growing up, of how he would still make time to visit her stall and pester her endlessly even as a soldier.

She thinks of how she fell for him, little by little, and then all at once.

She thinks of the flower he held that day, looking so nervous and awkward and worried that Rowena had thought something had happened. She had thought that he was going to tell her that he had found someone to love and it would not be wise for them to carry on with their friendship as it was.

Instead, he had told her that he loved her.

"He probably told us the story because of the apples," the hobbit is saying, and she raises her head ever so slightly. "We'd only had lembas bread for days, and let me tell you, it fills your stomach, all right, but nothing beats some really good fruit."

She laughs then, laughs through her tears, as he hoped she would.

Boromir.

Her hand in his and his laughter in her ears and his running his hand through her hair and his wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close –

"I'm sorry, Master Pippin," she says, finally, rubbing at her eyes, blinking the tears away. "Thank you for bringing me this news."

She thinks of Boromir, thinks of him, strong and brave and true, holding her in his arms and pressing his lips to her forehead.

"If you ever need me – " the hobbit pauses again, then presses on " – you could find me. If, you know, if you wish to talk about him."

"I shall keep your offer in mind, young master," and she smiles sadly at him.

"He always said that you were the most wonderful thing that ever happened to him," Pippin says, as Rowena leads him back to the door, and she stops, frozen. "He said that if he had never met you, he would never become the man that he was. That you changed his life forever, and that you gave him strength in the darkest of times."

Pippin thinks of their attempted passage through the mountains, of their journey through the mines of Moria, of their travelling through the forest to Lorien. Thinks of how he and Merry would ask him about his life, about Gondor, about his family and friends.

About what mattered to him the most in the world.

"I mean no offence, Master Pippin," Rowena says, and her voice is shaky, "but why did Boromir speak to you of me?"

Pippin looks up at her, blinks.

"He was worried that he might not come back," he says, "and he wanted people to remember; he wanted others to know, and for you to know, that you are his heart and his soul and that you never left his mind."

She swings the door open, bites her lip as another tear trickles down her cheek.

Pippin looks up at her, takes her hand briefly before stepping back.

"Because he loved you."


End file.
